lover both at the same time. This,
perhaps, would be too much to expect from a tailor. His policy was
better. He resolved to bring all his available energy to bear upon
the charms of whatever fair nymph he should select for the honor of
matrimony; to waste his spirit in fighting would, therefore, be a
deduction from the single purpose in view.

The transition from war to love is by no means so remarkable as we might
at first imagine. We quote Jack Falstaff in proof of this, or, if the
reader be disposed to reject our authority, then we quote Ancient Pistol
himself--both of whom we consider as the most finished specimens of
heroism that ever carried a safe skin. Acres would have been a hero had
he won gloves to prevent the courage from oozing out at his palms, or
not felt such an unlucky antipathy to the "snug lying in the Abbey;" and
as for Captain Bobadil, he never had an opportunity of putting his plan,
for vanquishing an army, into practice. We fear, indeed, that neither
his character, nor Ben Jonson's knowledge of human nature, is properly
understood; for it certainly could not be expected that a man, whose
spirit glowed to encounter a whole host, could, without tarnishing his
dignity, if closely pressed, condescend to fight an individual. But
as these remarks on courage may be felt by the reader as an invidious
introduction of a subject disagreeable to him, we beg to hush it for the
present and return to the tailor.

No sooner had Neal begun to feel an inclination to matrimony, than his
friends knew that his principles had veered, by the change now visible
in his person and deportment. They saw he had ratted from courage, and
joined love. Heretofore his life had been all winter, darkened by storm
and hurricane. The fiercer virtues had played the devil with him; every
word was thunder, every look lightning; but now all that had passed
away;--before, he was the Jortiter in re, at present he was the suaviter
in modo. His existence was perfect spring--beautifully vernal. All the
amiable and softer qualities began to bud about his heart; a genial
warmth was diffused over him; his soul got green within him; every day
was serene; and if a cloud happened to be come visible, there was
a roguish rainbow astride of it, on which sat a beautiful Iris that
laughed down at him, and seemed to say, "why the dickens, Neal, don't
you marry a wife?"

Neal could not resist the afflatus which descended on him; an ethereal
light dwell